


Dance Little Liar

by PerhapsTheWind



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Addiction, Doctors & Physicians, Drug Addiction, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Medical, POV Second Person, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerhapsTheWind/pseuds/PerhapsTheWind
Summary: "And you're bound to tripAnd she'll detect the fiction onYour lips and dig a contradiction upAnd the clean coming will hurtAnd you can never get it spotlessWhen there's dirt beneath the dirtThe liar takes a lot less time"orA Rewrite of A Case of You
Relationships: Greg House/Original Female Character(s), Greg House/Reader
Comments: 42
Kudos: 87





	1. Orange Bottles

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I got a lot of love on A Case of You, which I appreciated immensely. Unfortunately, I didn't write it with an outline and my desire to write it fizzled out when my ideas ran out. I ended up disliking it and wanted to rewrite it entirely. 
> 
> This will have a lot of similar texts because I recycled a lot of that content. However, it will have a lot of new writings and eventually, it will not resemble it at all. I wrote an outline for this fiction, so it will eventually end and it won't end up abandoned! 
> 
> Thank you for your support! Please let me know what you think and leave a kudos if you enjoy! <3 
> 
> Much love, 
> 
> SNS

You were in your car in the middle of the Princeton-Plainsboro parking lot for seemingly hours. When you looked at your watch, though, it was only 7:30 AM. You’d been there for an hour. The November wind shook your car gently, and you sipped on your morning coffee in your travel mug. 

It was the tradition for you, it would seem, to arrive an hour before your start time during the first week of any new job. If you were an hour early and you waited in the parking lot, then you could always be 15 to 20 minutes early when you walked in. Acts of God, traffic, car troubles, all of it could be prevented if you were early. 

Preparedness was the enemy of anxiety. 

You tapped on your steering wheel and stared out on the greige parking lot, filled with an impressive variety of cars. Some were preparing to leave, their third shift ending. Others were arriving, parking, and drinking coffee. 

You had to stay sharp. You deserved to be here just as much as anyone else. 

You earned this. 

First day jitters were healthy, you thought. Your first real job, working for such a big name in diagnostic medicine. 

Jitters are normal, jitters are normal. 

You repeated the mantra until it felt real, but it never really goes away, does it? The jitters. 

Anxiety. It loomed over you like a dark storm cloud, shocking you with tiny ribbons of lightning. Lack of sleep definitely wasn’t helping. 

If anxiety was a storm cloud, insomnia was the morning fog after the storm, obscuring your thoughts under a light blanket. Coffee was your morning sun that cut through it.

It was a delicate balance to feign the mask of normalcy, but you had it down to a science. Therapist every other week, emergency anxiety medication just in case, and good ol’ coping skills. Then you realized. 

You forgot your lab coat.

“Fuck!” You shouted into the void and banged your head against the steering wheel in frustration. You rose with a sigh and glanced out of your window. Another doctor stared blankly back at you before walking over. 

Great, you’ve made a fool of yourself and concerned some poor doctor just trying to go to work. 

He was a well-dressed, handsome black man with intense large eyes and a half-smile of concern pulling at his lips. 

“Hey, uh, you okay?” His voice was muffled against your closed door. He backed up as you got out of your old beater, your briefcase in tow. 

“I forgot my lab coat. My first day here, and no lab coat. Seems like a bad omen somehow.”

“Oh, is that all?” He laughed as you walked together. “You’ll be fine, just don’t make it too much of a habit. What department are you in?” You began to walk together, his company a calming presence. “Oh, and I’m Dr. Eric Foreman. It’s good to meet you.”

“Diagnostic medicine and I’m Dr,” you gave your name and smiled, liking how saying it all together rolled off your tongue. The small pang of pride made you stand up a little more straight and walk with a bit more confidence.

He looked shocked but pleased. “Fantastic, that’s my department too! House didn’t mention a new doctor joining us.”

“Oh.” Panic. A slew of strange conclusions ran through your head. Were you at the right hospital? Did you actually get the job? Don’t be silly. You searched your mind and found your rational explanations after thinking of worst-case scenarios. “Well, I got an offer letter that I accepted from Dr. Lisa Cuddy, I’m supposed to meet with her for a tour of the hospital before joining you today.”

You weren’t going to let on that you’d known Lisa for years. 

He looked at you with concern again, as if you had just shouted obscenities into the void. “So, you haven’t met Dr. House?”

“No.” You blinked a few times and stopped in your tracks. “Is… that bad?”

Dr. Foreman stopped too, and looked off to the side with a shrug and a sigh like this was just how it went. “I’ll be honest with you, House isn’t for everyone. He’s an asshole. It’s weird that he didn’t speak with you before today. I don’t know what’s going on, but be on your toes.”

You swallowed a lump. “Got it.” Your gait was less sure now, but you feigned it the best that you could as you sipped on your morning latte, lipstick staining the rim of the cup. 

None of this was terribly surprising to you. You’d heard many, many stories of House’s antics. Many from Lisa Cuddy herself. 

“I’ll take you to see Dr. Cuddy. Good thing you’re early, she likes that.” He smiled and led you to her open and warm office. There was a comfortable quality to it, the seating was plush, and the large, wooden desk could have belonged in the Oval Office. The room reminded you of a library more than the office of a Dean of Medicine. She sat behind it, a beautiful woman in her early 40s, with dark curly hair, piercing eyes, and a dress that revealed an ample chest. She had an air of confidence and strength that you always envied.

“Ah, doctor, it’s good to see you again! Please come in. Thank you, Dr. Foreman, for accompanying her here.” 

“Anytime, but our team wasn’t made aware of any new hires joining us. Care to explain that?” Foreman raised an incredulous eyebrow.

She cleared her throat. “Perhaps later,” she said, folded her hands over one another and shot him a knowing glance. 

Foreman nodded once. “Okay, then. If you’ll excuse me.” He stepped out of the double doors and shut them behind him.

“What was that all about?” You asked, folding your arms, but still smiling. “House wasn’t told about me?” 

“No,” she said, your name calmly. “House is a child. He’ll be fine once he gets to know you. It’s better that he not know in advance. Gives him too much time to plot.” 

Lisa motioned for you to sit down, and you obliged. She smiled, hands still folded. It was her Dean of Medicine smile. Forced, but nearly natural. “We’re really excited to have you. I just wanted to meet with you before you start today to make sure you’re prepared for what’s ahead.”

Your back stiffened, and you took a silent, steady breath. You placed your latte down on the desk in front of you. You smiled and chuckled nervously. “Seems a bit foreboding, but I appreciate you preparing me.”

She sighed with a smile, and you swore you saw a hint of pity there. “You’re a capable doctor, I know your transcript front and back, top of your class at Johns Hopkins, and you were highly praised by Dr. Rathbone. His letter of recommendation for you was practically glowing.” You couldn’t help but smile. He was a fantastic doctor to work under. An excellent teacher, as well as a friend. “I wanted to let you know that Dr. House is nothing like him. He’s stubborn, rude, and frankly an ass. I asked him to do interviews for an additional spot in his department, but he refused. So I did him the courtesy of hiring for him. Hence why you’re here.”

You shot her an uncertain glance. 

“You’re here because you deserve to be. You’re the right candidate for the job. I hired you because of your abilities. Medicine is all about connections, but you earned this spot. You didn’t get it because you know me.” 

You smiled. “I appreciate you saying that. I only know what you’ve told me about House, which isn’t great, to be honest. How do you know he’ll get over me joining?” 

She looked out her window, and you thought she really was the perfect picture of a high-powered woman, and you hoped her confidence would rub off on you. “Despite the kind of person he is, House is an incredible doctor, and you could learn a lot from him. You’ve developed your skills at John Hopkins, and I believe you could build your strength and resilience as a doctor working here. I won’t deny the challenges you’ll face at first. He’s averse to change and doesn’t play well with others. But he’ll get over it.” She turned to you with another glowing smile. “I hope I’ve not scared you off.”

You rushed your answer. “No, not at all! I’m excited to begin.” You hoped your voice didn’t reveal your anxiety. 

“One more thing.” She spoke with severity, but there was no harshness there. “Please, let me know if you need help, okay? I know that you’ve struggled in the past with your anxiety.”

“I will, Lisa. Thank you.” 

There was a small knock at the door, and Cuddy shouted to come in. A doctor with a clean-shaven face and kind brown eyes entered. 

“Dr. Wilson, meet House’s new hire.” She introduced you by name. 

“Nice to meet you.” He looked cautiously at you and with a hint of sympathy. “Please, let me know if you need anything. House can be… difficult to work with.” He smiled, and it was full of warmth. 

Dr. Cuddy walked you to a large conference room where the doctor you saw earlier, Foreman, and two other doctors sat. None of whom were the doctors you were concerned about. He hadn’t arrived yet. Cuddy introduced you. 

“This is your new team member, Dr.,” she said your last name, and you were getting used to how it sounded after “doctor.” You waved shyly with a smile. Just then, the sound of heavy, limping footsteps entered the room and froze. 

“What’s going on?” A gruff voice loomed behind you, and you and Cuddy both turned around. You were met with fierce blue eyes, five o’clock shadow at 8 in the morning, and a confused and annoyed expression that became snarky soon after. “Is she your girlfriend?” He asked you, pointing his thumb at Cuddy. You went to speak but couldn’t find words. He walked over to a stand-up whiteboard, both hands clasped over the handle of his cane. He feigned sentimentality and wiped a non-existent tear from his eye. “See, I always knew. Cuddy, I want you to know we all support you no matter what.” 

Cuddy cleared her throat and stood up straight. “This is your new hire.”

“I take back what I said, I don’t support you.” He remarked with defiance as he sat down in a chair, the whiteboard behind him making him look professorial. “I didn’t hire anyone, so clearly, there’s a mistake here.”

“Exactly, you didn’t hire anyone, so I took the liberty.”

“I didn’t hire anyone because we don’t _need_ anyone else.” He leaned both hands on his cane and glared up from under his brow. 

“You’re taking on new and stranger cases every week, you need another doctor.”

“We’re functioning just fine as we are, and you are out of line going over my head on this.” He feigned hurt, clutching his chest. “In fact, I’m feeling betrayed. You have her spy on me, aren’t you?” He stood up dramatically and pointed at you. “She’s a plant!” 

Was this guy your boss now? What a trip. 

Cuddy rolled her eyes. “This is Dr—”

“Judas,” he interrupted.

“ _Excuse_ me?” You chimed in, finding your words. 

“You’re a product of treachery,” he tilted his chin up and glared at Cuddy. 

“Does that make you _Jesus_?” You asked cautiously.

He nodded. “These are my disciples.” He motioned to the doctors that sat down at the glass-topped table.

You looked from them to your new boss, and they gave you sympathetic glances. 

Cuddy took a deep breath. “House. There is nothing you can say or do that will make me change my mind on this. Deal. And play nice. For once in your life.”

She looked at you with intensity. “If you need anything, let me know.”

Cuddy walked out, and House called after her. “Put a baby monitor down here, why don’t you!”

She shot up a middle finger at him as she walked away. 

Panic was welling up inside you. You stood up straight and looked at him. You imagined the anxiety rushing below and away from you like a hose with the straightening of your spine. Confidence. House met your eyes, you continued to make contact, refusing to be the one to break the look. No weakness.

He smiled. It was a winning smile. 

  
  



	2. Small Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Detailed depictions of panic, claustrophobia, trauma

“So, 32-year-old female, loss of control of her left hand.” He stood up, limping over to his whiteboard and writing symptoms. “Confusion, anxiety, and muscle spasms. Go.”

“Sounds like a potential stroke. We should MRI to confirm.” The brunette woman piped up, a hint of nerves in her voice, and tucked a hair behind her ear. The blonde man to her left nodded. 

“Well get to it then.” He waved all of you off. You stood up, grasping your briefcase. “Except you, follow me. We need to talk.” He motioned at you, and you followed. “We’ll go to my office.”

He led you down a grey corridor as your stomach did backflips so hard that you felt like the wrong move would make you vomit. Fewer and fewer doors were visible, and you began to see fewer and fewer people on either side of the hallway. Down a few sets of stairs, you both went, with him limping along. 

“Ah, _here_ we are!” He snagged a key and unlocked a door marked “utility”, and you raised an eyebrow. He opened it and stepped inside, motioning for you to enter too before shutting the door. “So, Judas.” Your lips tightened, but your eyes remained focused. “Why did Cuddy hire you?”

That boiling, anxious ball of lava in your stomach glowed, but you remained vigilant. You tried not to notice how small the room was and how close House was standing to you. Protective equipment and old machinery littered the room, and the smell of once spilled disinfectant stung your nose. 

“I graduated top of my class at John Hopkins, worked under Dr. Jordan Rathbone in the Diagnostics department. Dr. Cuddy felt I would be a good fit for your team.” You met his eyes and were reminded of lions, you a poor antelope with a broken leg. 

“Rathbone is a second rate doctor at best, that’s not a good enough reason to hire you.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, doctor.” Your voice was flat and lacking in emotion. Separate yourself from your feelings, he won’t see you crack. “Considering your behavior, I would feel it’s safe to assume you don’t want me here.”

“I don’t know what to make of you yet, Judas.” He twirled his keys on his finger. “I’ll leave you in here until I decide.”

“What?”

“Yep.” He smiled, whipped around, and closed the door. You scampered up to it and tried to twist the handle. It was too late. You were locked in the utility closet. Alone. 

It felt like an elephant sat on your chest. You slammed your hand against the door. “Let me out!” You slammed your fist against it again in quick succession. Again. Again. Again. Shouting. The elephant had placed his full weight on you. 

You fiddled into your pocket and tried to find your phone. You pulled it out frantically. 

No reception. You were in the basement, after all. Too bad you hadn’t snagged the Wifi password. 

You sank to the floor and looked around you. The room felt even smaller than before. Your breath quickened, you pushed yourself against the wall. The elephant and the buzz of fluorescent lighting were the only things that kept you company. Your breath shook, and hands trembled as you dug into your briefcase. You found your anxiety medication. 

The walls weren’t closing in. It’s all in your head. 

You struggled to unscrew the top. 

You glanced at the side. 

Clonazepam 1 MG

Take 1-2 AS NEEDED per day. 

You did as the medication instructed and took two. Only two. That’s all you needed, right? You dry swallowed them, and it sizzled against your throat. 

You breathed. In five beats out three. In five beats out three. You repeated it, but it didn’t seem to help. You rocked yourself, head on your knees.

It felt like all your mental and emotional strength were sapped. You were scared. 

But why? Why were you frightened of being alone in here?

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

_ Your parents were familiar with bodies and how they worked.  _

_ But their specialty was not with the living. They ran a crematorium, a small family affair. They often cut deals for the financially disadvantaged who were dealing with the deaths of their loved ones. You were familiar with Death and what it meant from a young age.  _

_ Your parents wouldn’t let you see the ashes, not when you were so little. You’d caught glimpses of the giant, iron machine that lit up in flames late at night. You’d snuck peeks before being shooed away by your father.  _

_ You just wanted to know what it looked like inside. There’s nothing wrong with having a curious mind.  _

_ You’d meticulously rigged up a couple of chairs to climb onto to reach the metal latch, and it squeaked as you opened it, deafeningly loud in the quiet room. You smelled the char and the tang of the metal against your nose and bristled with anticipation.  _

_ The light dusting of pale ashes reminded you of grey snow. You climbed inside. The door shut on you, latching from the outside.  _

_ Of course, there was a lever on the inside that would’ve released you. How could you have known, though? You were so young and afraid.  _

_ You screamed. You weren’t sure how long you were in there. But it couldn’t have been long. _

_ You didn’t like small spaces after that.  _

You finally felt your medication kick in but didn’t feel like enough. The elephant still sat on your chest and stomach. You debated taking more, what could it hurt? No, you couldn’t. These medications shouldn’t be taken more than prescribed, right? Don’t fall back into old habits.

Disconnect, just breathe. Don’t give those memories power. You stared at a single pale grey brick in the wall.

It wasn’t just the ashes, there was more. There were more things that you didn’t want to remember. More things that made you feel unsafe, unclean, abnormal, shaken. 

You disconnected. Stared away until you heard a small voice. 

The voice was barely perceptible in your current state. Gruff. It was House. 

“Judas.” 

Silence. 

Your actual name rang out more clearly. Dr. Cuddy’s mildly raspy voice faded into your ear. You smelled her perfume, and her wavy brown hair tickled your cheek.

You heard it again. Dr. House’s deep, baritone voice. Was there panic there?

A hand jostled your shoulder. It seemed to pull you out of your trance, and Cuddy breathed a sigh of relief.

“God, House you’re such an _ass_.” You heard Cuddy’s chastising voice as she stood, and your head turned and looked up at her. “You think locking up doctors is a humorous little game? You think this is funny?” 

Cuddy stared him down with intensity as House just looked at you blankly. 

“Well, I did...” House’s voice trailed off as you stood up and walked out of the utility closet without paying either of them mind.

Cuddy continued to follow after you and caught up. “Are there any updates on our patient?” You asked without looking at her.

“Are you okay? You seemed--”

“I’m fine.” You were not okay, but you were alive, and you weren’t about to give the impression of anything but being okay going forward. You attempted a smile. “Needless to say, I won’t be following Dr. House down any hallways anytime soon.” 

She offered you a sad smile. “The MRI didn’t show any signs of a stroke. Her symptoms are getting worse. The patient claims her hand is moving on its own, and she has to grab it to stop it.”

You grinned. “Alien hand syndrome.” You sped off toward House’s diagnostics office, the doctors from earlier were sitting around discussing the symptoms. 

You walked in and sat down without explanation. You glanced up at the clock. You were in the closet for an hour. “I assume she hasn’t had a traumatic brain injury, or we would have heard about it upon admission.”

The three doctors in front of you looked at you with a mix of Confusion and concern. 

The blonde-haired doctor spoke first, and you were struck by his features. He reminded you of a doctor from a soap opera, handsome, but boyish. “I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. I’m Dr. Chase.” He put his hand out to shake yours. You obliged. 

“Apparently, I’m Dr. Judas.” You attempted to cut the tension with humor. The three doctors chuckled. 

“I’m Dr. Cameron.” The brunette bombshell of a doctor gave you a kind wave and a smile. You nodded and returned the smile. “Where were you? Are you doing okay?”

“Uh, I was—“

“Indisposed.” House had finally caught up and walked in and up to the board. 

“Meningitis,” you chimed in, trying to get back to the task at hand. “I would recommend a lumbar puncture to confirm.” 

“The patient has a temperature of 102.6. The MRI showed high signal intensity in the caudate nucleus. Get the lumbar puncture. We’ll see what it tells us.”

“I’ll let the patient know. I’ve not had a chance to speak with her yet, and I’d like the opportunity.”

“ _Jesus_ , don’t tell me we have another sentimental Cameron-type on our hands.” House shook his head and grumbled something inaudible.

You let his words settle, and your words flowed out like sticky venom. “Contrary to your processes, I’m in the business of treating people, Doctor.” You left the room before he had a chance to respond. 

The hallways were bustling with doctors, and you didn’t notice Dr. Chase running after you. 

His voice was smooth and warm, and he held up a ballpoint pen, and you recognized it as the one you brought from home. “You dropped this,” he said, handing it back to you. 

You accepted it. “Thanks, did you really come all that way for a ballpoint pen?” 

“Yes and no,” he responded with a chuckle, his eyes darting away from your face. “I just wanted to offer a bit of caution. Don’t take House too personally. He gets better over time, you’re doing great so far. Most newbies crack under his pressure.” 

“Cuddy already warned me, and Wilson, too. I think that was his name. It was foreboding.” You chuckled nervously. 

“Well, we’re not all terrible. Did you want to—“ 

Dr. House’s shouting cut through the noise of the hallway. “Dr. Chase, are you really going to sleep your way through all of the team?” Dr. House came into view and stepped in front of you. “Or just Dr. Cameron? You two were married, _right_? I have to imagine you slept with her at some point. I thought maybe _Foreman_ might be next.” 

Dr. Chase sighed and dipped his head. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he grumbled, walking away. 

You furrowed your brow and glared up at House. 

“Do you think you look threatening when you do that?” He asked, a hint of a grin creeping across his lips. You noticed the curve of his jaw and the stubble that peppered it in gray and brown. 

Your glare faltered briefly, and you exhaled through your nose, turning on your heels back on your path to the patient’s room.

You stepped into the patient’s room cautiously, closing the door behind you. 

The room was quiet, only the sound of her breathing and the machine tones punctuated the silence. You watched her left hand jerk, and the right one grabbed it. She grimaced angrily at it, her nails digging in slowly. 

“Who are you?” Her grip loosened on the rebellious hand, but her eyes remained intense, feral. 

You introduced yourself and gave your name. “I’m part of the team that’s treating you.”

“What team?”

You furrowed your brows. “You don’t remember the doctors who were with you for your MRI?”

There was a long pregnant pause, punctuated by the beeps of her heart rate monitor. “MRI?” She seemed to calm, her body relaxing as if asking in a dream. 

You jotted down notes. Memory loss.

“Miss Jacoby, do you know where you are?”

She didn’t respond at first, and then her head jerked, and she looked around herself, taking in her setting. Tears welled up in her eyes. “A-a hospital, right?” Her left hand jerked again, and this time she shouted at it, grabbing at it with her other hand. “No! No! You stop that this instant!” She grabbed her hand so hard you were concerned it would bruise.

She stared off into space, her grip loosening, before looking at you again. “You’re quite beautiful.” She tilted her head as her hand trembled, a small, peaceful half-smile pulling at her lips. “What’s your name?”

~~~

You walked back into the glass-walled diagnostics room, and then froze when you realized that House was the only one in the room. 

You stepped into the room, wringing your hands behind your back. You cleared your throat, and House turned to you. “Memory loss. Her mental capabilities are only decreasing. It seems to be early-onset dementia.” Your voice rang with a hint of sadness. “She’s deteriorating quickly. At speeds such as this, I would suspect Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease.”

“It fits the criteria, but can only be completely confirmed by brain biopsy.”

“Or differential diagnosis,” you retorted. “She doesn’t have the signs of meningitis, she’s experiencing Myoclonic jerks, not stiffness. There was no traumatic brain injury reported. If you test the lumbar, I’m confident it’ll show the protein. If so... there’s nothing to be done.”

“My, my.” He turned to you. “Maybe you aren’t completely useless.”

You tilted your chin up as he approached you, meeting his eye. There was darkness there. Sadness, perhaps? Regret? All of it was hidden behind blue. He smelled like musky cologne and linen. 

You spoke quietly. “We should call the patient’s family, so she can at least die with some dignity.” 

He scoffed at you. “There’s no such thing as dying with dignity. Dying, especially in a hospital, is gross and dehumanizing. There’s no dignity to it. Dignity would be going off to die in the forest alone like an animal, not with people fawning over you as you defecate into a bedpan.” 

“I’d rather not die alone.” You shrugged. 

“Death is the only thing in this life that we truly face alone. Even if you’re not alone when you die, they don’t stay as you really meet your maker. When your consciousness fades, they won’t see what you see.” 

“Are you always such a contrarian?” You asked frowning. 

“Can’t help if I’m always right,” he responded. 

You couldn’t help but smile, with an eye roll. 

  
  



	3. Night Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! Thank you guys for all the love on this! There are few of you, but you are mighty. <3
> 
> This chapter is a little cheesy. I hope you like it. 
> 
> PTW

Night terrors are strange. 

You awoke, screaming. You were sweating, and yet cold and shivering. Your mind was blank as to what you saw, or why you were crying. You thought perhaps what you saw was so traumatizing that your brain blocked it out. 

You sobbed, mainly because it was so jarring and frightening to greet the world that way. You reached your nightstand and fumbled with the knob to turn on the lamp that sat there. The light was bright enough to make you squint. 

You reached for the orange bottle, that damn bottle that tempted you. You considered how nice it would be to swallow a palmful and sleep for twelve hours. 

You huffed and shook the bottle before placing it back in its spot. 

No, not tonight. 

You looked at your phone, eyes getting used to the brightness and suddenly feeling very dry. 

11:33 PM. You’d only been asleep an hour or two. 

There was a text from Dr. Wilson from 11:28 PM. You furrowed your brow curiously and read it. 

**James Wilson: A few of us are getting drinks at Lenny’s Bar, care to join us? I know it’s a little short notice and late. Chase meant to invite you earlier.**

You thought briefly that you weren’t sure how you felt about it. But then, something willed you to go. Wilson seemed like a sweet guy who could make a decent friend, and everyone else seemed nice. 

**You: Sure, give me 20 minutes to get ready.**

**James Wilson: I hope I didn’t wake you.**

**You: Nah, I couldn’t sleep anyway.**

**James Wilson: Favorite drink? I’m buying.**

**You: Surprise me.**

You wore an outfit that was casual yet classy. It was nothing like the kind of stuffy outfit you had to wear for work, but something that was “you” while still being appropriate enough to wear around coworkers. Your makeup was smeared under your eye, like a raccoon. You swiped the black from underneath it and added a new coat of mascara. 

Good enough. 

You left out of the door, and caught a taxi, nervously picking at a loose string on your outfit. 

As the busy nighttime noises and sights passed your eyes, you felt your phone vibrate. 

**James Wilson: I hope you like Jager and hot sauce.**

**You: Yummy!**

You laughed and tucked your phone back into your purse. 

You arrived through the door, a bell jingling overhead with your entry. The bar lights were low and intimate. You saw Foreman, Cameron, and Chase all-around a large, circular high top table. Wilson was at the bar, ordering a drink, and he waved you over. 

He was still wearing a striped tie, but his suit coat was missing. His hair was a little messy, and liquor tinged his breath slightly when he spoke. “Whiskey sour?” 

“You have good taste.” You reached for the glass, and he tilted his chin up proudly. 

“Why, thank you.” He smiled. 

You accompanied him back to the table. The crowd there waved at you. 

“Hey! We’re glad you joined us!” Chase said with excitement. “I was worried House scared you off.” 

“No, I’m still around,” you chuckled, taking a sip of your drink. “You guys don’t invite him out?” 

They all looked at each other with grins. 

“I didn’t,” Foreman said. 

The rest of them shook their heads, except for Wilson, who took a gulp of his dark liquor and looked nervously at his coworkers. 

“Did you invite him?” Cameron asked, holding her beer. Her eyes were narrowed in accusation at Wilson, and everyone else glared at him too. 

Wilson looked guiltily at the rest of them. “I… I think it’s good for him to get out with people sometimes.” 

The rest of them looked betrayed and groaned, deflating like sad birthday balloons. 

“And you didn’t think to tell us?” Foreman asked. 

“I’m not even sure if he’s coming,” Wilson admitted. 

Cameron rolled her eyes.

As if on queue, you saw House enter the bar. He wore a leather jacket and jeans, and you saw him glance your way. You weren’t sure, but you thought you saw that same winning grin tinge his lips once more. 

He walked up to the bartender and ordered a drink. 

The group didn’t speak until he walked up to the tables. They just drank slightly faster. 

He stood by the table, leaning on his cane. “Disciples,” he greeted. “Judas.” He bowed his head towards you. 

You gave him a small wave before taking a drink, deciding it isn’t worth it to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. 

The table became quiet, everyone drinking quietly and exchanging glances.

You had to mix it up a little. “I’ll buy a drink for the first person to sing karaoke.” You smirked and took a sip of your whiskey sour. 

“Me!” Wilson shouted, grinning like a kid at the candy shop. 

“Alright, let’s get you up there, Elton,” you laughed and pulled him towards the small stage at the corner of the bar where the DJ stood. 

The rest of the group, barring House, were smiling as James put in his name and song choice. 

“What did you pick?” Foreman asked when Wilson rejoined the group. 

“It’s a secret.” Wilson winked. 

“For like 5 minutes,” Chase retorted, finishing his dark mixed beverage. 

“It’s part of the fun,” Cameron agreed with Wilson. 

“We’d like to welcome James to the stage!” The DJ called over the loudspeaker. 

James downed the rest of his drink and jogged drunkenly to the stage, nearly missing the steps when he stumbled. He held his hand up to block the one spotlight changing colors as it aimed at him. His eyes squinted at the brightness, but then adjusted and he cleared his throat. 

The DJ nodded at Wilson, and he nodded back.

“This song is dedicated to Gregory House.” He announced, feedback squealing at the end of his sentence. 

House frowned and sipped his drink. 

He then did a riveting rendition of 500 Miles by the Proclaimers. He put his soul into it, clutching his chest and marching in place as he sang about falling down at House’s door after walking 500 miles. 

You cheered him on excitedly as he finished the song with a bow, and greeted him with another Jack and Coke. You noticed as you handed it to him that you were wobbling, and your speech was mildly slurred. 

“You were amazing!” You shouted at Wilson. 

“No, you are!” He yelled, and his voice was almost too loud, even for a crowded bar. 

“You’re both idiots,” House interjected sourly. 

You waved him off. “You’re just bitter. I bet you can’t even sing.” 

You noticed Cameron was missing, but then you glanced up, and she was on stage singing Shania Twain and swaying. You were impressed by her voice, a velvety croon that was pleasant to the ears. 

“I can sing,” House replied. “I just choose not to.” 

“Fine,” you grinned. “I’m not going to beg you to have fun.” 

You wandered off to the wall behind a worn pool table and plucked two pool cues from the rack. You walked in front of Foreman and Chase, the pool cues behind your back. They looked at you curiously, sipping on their own drinks. Foreman held a simple Corona beer with a lime wedge, and Chase held an Old Fashioned. 

“Whoever loses has to sing Fergalicious…. by the one and only Fergie.” You bowed your head and offered them the pool cues. 

“You’re on,” Chase smirked to Foreman and snagged the pool cues. 

You sipped your drink and leaned against the wall, feeling victorious. You wore your mask of normalcy well that day. The alcohol had dulled your anxieties. Cameron finished her song and walked to the bar, grinning with a mild blush on her cheeks. 

House walked up and stood next to you, leaning on the wall as well. You turned to him, your temple touching the cold bricks. You playfully circled your finger on the rim of your glass and looked up at the man. His eyes met yours, and your confidence began to waver by how he appraised you. 

You took a gulp of your second whiskey sour. “Why’d you come out tonight?” You asked. 

“I had nothing better to do,” he remarked. “Plus, it’s better to keep your enemies close, or so Sun Tzu told me.” His voice was intimate, and you had to lean in to hear him. He seemed to relish this closeness, as a mischievous twinkle in his eye glinted in the dim lighting. 

“I’m not your enemy, House.” You quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“Then, what are you?” He stared at you with steely eyes that made your breath catch slightly. You drank, praying the alcohol would slow down the butterflies emerging from your gut. 

“Just some doctor trying to keep the peace, I guess.” You shrugged and broke eye contact with him, and it was like coming up for air. Your head swam, and you realized you would not need another drink after this. 

“Hmph,” House grumbled. He turned away dejectedly, and you were simultaneously relieved and disappointed by the void he left at the wall. 

Chase lost to Foreman and put in his request for Fergalicious. To his credit, he performed it with enthusiasm. Chase owned it, dancing along to the lyrics with surprising talent. You cheered him on, and he gave you an appreciating smile. 

The night slowed to a crawl as closing time neared. Everyone was sufficiently drunk, slurring their words, and laughing. House seemed to just grumpily study the rest of you. Every once in awhile, you’d catch his eye and then pull your glance away from him. Sometimes you’d see him palm tiny pills and wash them down with his drink. 

You winced, but he never seemed to notice the pained look cross your face. Or perhaps he didn’t care. 

You asked for your check from a frazzled bartender who was cleaning the tables. 

Your team had all departed before you, and you checked your watch. It was 3 AM, and House approached the wall where you stood, urgently praying the bartender would come back soon. 

“Why didn’t you sing?” House asked. 

“I didn’t want to.” 

“Why?” 

“I just didn’t feel like it.” 

“So, you wanted everyone else to sing, but you didn’t want to.” 

You nodded slowly, “Uh-huh.” 

“Why do you care so much about what everyone thinks?” 

“Oh, I see what this is now.” You nodded a thank you at the bartender who finally brought your check. “This is some sort of mediocre psychoanalysis. Please, tell me about my mommy issues.” 

“You wanted everyone else to have a great time and sing and compete, but you didn’t participate yourself. It’s because you didn’t want to risk making a fool of yourself.” 

You felt your stomach sink and anger boil inside. On the surface, you kept an amused smile plastered. “Totally, Dr. House, you have me all figured out. I hope you have a wonderful night.” 

You turned on your heels and toward the exit after leaving a tip. House followed you out the door, the jingle of the bell above the door ringing behind you. The air was crisp, and you pulled your arms close to your body. You heard not-quite-steady steps behind you.

“Are you following me now? I’m pretty sure I can outrun you.” 

“Well, unless you quit your undeserved position, you’ll have to see me Monday anyway.” 

You laughed bitterly. “What do you want from me?” 

“Your resignation.” 

“Well, that’s not happening, so is there anything else I can offer you?” 

“Your suffering will do nicely.” 

“Well, that you’re achieving, congrats.” You pulled out your phone and snagged a way home from your ridesharing app. “Imagine if you took all that effort you put into reading people and deductions, and put that towards making friends and getting along with people. Maybe you wouldn’t be so miserable,” you spat your words with frustration that channeled into your hands. They shook slightly when you spoke. 

You thought your words might have actually bothered him when you glimpsed up at his tired eyes, but perhaps it was a trick of the light. 

You saw your ride was on its way and walked in the direction it would be coming from. House followed, and you could hear him limping behind you, his cane punctuating the ground, leaves crunching underneath. He struggled to catch up to you, wincing with each step he took on uneven terrain. 

“So, why did Cuddy hire you?” 

You waved him off broadly. “I don’t know, why don’t you go ask Cuddy? Yeah, go bother her.” 

“But you’re new and shiny, and maybe even a little interesting.” 

Interesting? 

“Maybe I’m just a decent doctor.” You walked into the street toward the blue sedan that pulled up. 

“Doubtful.” 

“Good night, House.” You waved as the car drove off back home, a smile that looked more like a grimace crossed your face. 

A rare smile crossed his face, and you weren’t sure what it meant.


	4. Oxen Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Hello! 
> 
> Thank you all for the love, even though updates are sporadic. My personal life has been quite hectic! I love this story but updates will be infrequent for a while. 
> 
> I hope you’re all doing well! 
> 
> Much love,
> 
> <3 PTW

House didn’t regret chasing after Judas, even though the pain he woke up with the next day was excruciating. No, he hadn’t learned anything new, but he found her to be interesting. He surprised himself when he admitted that, even if it was in a backhanded compliment. 

To give a genuine compliment would be beyond House’s capabilities. He was early to the office that morning, and Cuddy happened to be in the lobby when he arrived. He puffed his cheeks out and then let out an exasperated exhale when her steely eyes met his. 

“It’s 9:30 AM, you’re in early… for you.” She said in surprise, crossing her arms, which exposed her cleavage. She noticed him glance down and uncrossed them, and took off towards her office. House followed. 

“And it’s 68 degrees in here, based on your relative _perkiness_.” He punctuated his sentence with a jaunty change in his step. The pain in his leg cut it short. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the orange bottle that felt like his lifeline. “Are we naming more obvious facts?” 

_Ten pills left._

He took one pill and swallowed it dry. It was always dry. Cuddy pretended not to see him feed his addiction. 

“Your new hire won’t be in this morning.” She said simply. “She called off and will be in at noon.” They’d arrived at her office, and she was keenly aware of where her arms were. 

House looked down at her and narrowed his eyes. “You’re never okay with call-offs this soon after hire.” 

“It was an emergency.” She was dismissive. “Anyway, 24-year-old woman, she’s declining fast. Have a look.” She handed him a file from her desk. 

He took the file but didn’t look at it. 

“You just got here yourself.” House noticed. “Your coffee is still steaming.” 

“So what? I needed a mid-morning pick-up.” She seemed unphased. 

“Where’s Judas?” 

“That’s not your business, House.” 

House dropped the file on her desk and went towards her office door, twirling his keys around his finger. 

“House, leave her alone!” Cuddy chased after him, but only briefly. 

_Earlier that morning…_

**Incoming Call...**

**Lisa Cuddy**

Your breath stopped short in your throat. Yes, you’d known Lisa for many years now, having become her daughter Rachel’s nanny while you were finishing med school. The fact that you knew her well didn’t quell the feeling that something was wrong. Cuddy had the power to ruin everything for you. 

Yet you shamelessly flirted with the resident asshole at her hospital. 

Well, you had shame, that’s what you were feeling at that moment. You answered the phone after you swiped a neutral color of lipstick over your lips. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m so sorry to bother you this early; I know you’re getting ready for work.” 

“Lisa, it’s okay, what’s up?” This was unlike her, to apologize so early into a conversation. Unless she was going to ask a favor. You rubbed your lips together, the lipstick spreading evenly. 

“I hate to ask this, but I don’t have anyone else to ask. My nanny’s car just broke down, and she won’t be in until 11:30. Can you watch Rachel until then?” 

“I have to be at the hospital in half an hour,” you pinched the bridge of your nose. 

“I know, but you won’t get in trouble with me, because I’m asking you. I’m already late, and I have a huge meeting with the board of directors. Please?” 

“What about House? Won’t he lose it if I’m not there?” 

“House won’t be there until noon anyway, knowing him. I’ll take care of him.” 

“Okay, fine. I’ll be there in ten.” 

You ended the call and sighed. 

**~ ~ ~**

You were in the middle of a rousing game of patty cake when you heard the doorbell on the front door of Cuddy’s house ring seven times in a row. 

“I’ll be right back.” You glanced down at the little girl who looked at you placidly. 

No one but an insane person would repeatedly ring a doorbell like that. You walked toward the door and peeked around the corner that led into her foyer, and you could see a familiar mad man stand on the front patio. It took everything in you not to gasp. He did not notice you. You whipped your cellphone from your dress pants pocket and dialed Cuddy’s number, heart sinking. 

“Hello, you’ve reached Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. If this is a medical emergency, please hang up and dial 911 or visit your nearest emergency room. Leave your message after the beep.” 

_Beeeep._

“Lisa!” You shout-whispered, a cacophony of chimes by the front door made you cringe. Rachel toddled over to your leg and prepared to peek out into the foyer until you stopped her. “House is at your door right now, and I’m not really mentally prepared for his onslaught for the next two hours, so maybe call me back, please?” You hung up and dragged yourself down the wall to the floor. Rachel pulled on your shirt with a small hand, the other had her thumb in her mouth. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked through her thumb, her doe-like brown eyes peeking out from under her block bangs. 

“One of your mommy’s friends is just being silly, that’s all. I’m playing hide and seek from him, but he’s almost found me. Wait here, okay?” 

She nodded as you stood. You took a deep breath to prepare yourself, but it was interrupted by another round of chimes from the doorbell. You rounded the corner, and House saw you. The doctor sighed as if you’d annoyed him by keeping him waiting. You did not open the door and instead opted to talk to him through the window that divided you. 

“What do you want?” You shouted. 

“So, it was _nepotism_ that got you hired,” House said slyly, leaning on his cane. 

“Oh, fuck you. I worked hard to get where I am,” you snapped, before realizing Rachel could hear you and immediately feeling guilty. 

“Language. I’m surprised Cuddy let you watch her child with that mouth.” His phone went off, and he answered rudely. “What?” He nodded a couple of times. “Go search her house, figure out if it’s environmental.” He hung up on the caller without saying goodbye. He beat on the front door with his cane, which made you jump. “Let me in, we have a case.” 

You huffed and opened the door. The smell of his cologne, woody and a little musky, bit your nose. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t call the cops. Who rings a doorbell like that?” You hissed. 

“A person who should’ve been let in on the first ring.” He limped through the foyer, looking around. “Since you’re off all Babysitter’s Club like, I figured I’d visit you, and you could offer your help from afar.”

“Fine, what’s the case?” You crossed your arms, noticed House looked down at your chest, and you reddened, uncrossing them. “Rachel, honey?” You looked around the living room and didn’t see the little girl. “Where did she go?” You mumbled. “Rachel!” You yelled, drawing out her name. 

“Twenty-four year old female, jaundice, vomiting, and weight loss.” House stated, following you as you searched around for Rachel. You looked in cabinets while you thought. 

“Diabetes?” You asked, half distracted. 

“No hypoglycemia,” House shook his head and watched you unhelpfully. “You’re supposed to be my new star pupil, come on now.” 

“House, excuse me, but my boss’s daughter is missing.” 

“Yeah, well, a young woman is also dying, so.” 

You tapped on the counter with your nails and huffed. “Is the patient running a fever?” 

“Nope.” 

“They need to ask her what she’s eaten recently,” you bit your lip. “I need more information.” 

“They’re looking right now.” 

“Well, your help would be lovely,” you crossed your arms and then uncrossed them when House began to smirk. 

“But watching you squirm is so fun,” House limped over to Cuddy’s oversized couch and flopped down onto it. 

You huffed and stormed through Cuddy’s sizable house. 

“Rachel! Honey, come out, please!” You yelled. Your heart was starting to race, no clue as to where the little girl went. 

God, Cuddy would find you so incompetent, negligent, even if you couldn’t find her before she got home. What if something happened to her? It would be on your head. 

“Rachel!” You raced around the home, up and down hardwood stairs, looked in painted cabinets, and under meticulously dressed beds. Your hands started to shake like leaves in the wind. 

_Meds would be lovely right now._

You thought about digging through your purse for that little orange bottle that could help you think rationally. 

“Rachel, this is not funny!” You shouted. “Come on, please come out!” You opened the door to the basement, the light swallowed by the darkness. You reached up to pull a cord that you assumed would turn on the bulb to illuminate your descent. 

Instead, it let out a click, and no light came. You cursed under your breath. “Rachel?” You called, hopelessly into the basement—no one called back. 

“What, are you afraid of the dark?” House tilted his head up at you from his comfortable spot on the couch. 

Truthfully, maybe you were a little bit. You thought of the crematorium’s closing doors, the suffocating ash, the dank smell of concrete and metal. Not unlike the scent that wafted up to your nose from the basement. 

Your defiance felt stronger than your fear. “No,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

You took one unsure step downward, and then another until you were in the gray of the basement. It was finished on one side, with a playroom fit with a tv, oversized bean bag chairs, and colorful toy boxes decorated with stickers. You thought you heard the rustle of something unseen, but realized it was only your own socked feet shifting on the ground. 

“Rachel?” You called. Nothing met your ears but silence and the usual rumblings of a suburban house, air conditioning, water tank, and little else. You began to peek into the toy boxes. Dollies, cars, and a toy stethoscope greeted you back. You picked up the stethoscope and smiled faintly at it. You’d had one of your own when you were Rachel’s age. You innocently placed the earpieces in and listened to your own heartbeat. It worked decently enough; your heart rate was accelerated, which you could already tell from the tremble of your hands and the cold perspiration on the back of your neck. 

Then you felt something else on the back of your neck. Breath. 

You whipped around with a gasp, and House was glaring down at you. “Playing doctor?” 

You caught your breath and fought back the urge to sock him in the nose. You put your hand to your heart and turned away, feeling even more frazzled. 

“I haven’t found her,” You grumbled, ignoring his comment. “I should probably call Cuddy. She’ll have my head.” 

House gave you a smug look before opening his mouth and shouting playfully, “Ollie ollie oxen free!”

You heard the toddling of feet above you. Your mouth was agape. “Why didn’t you do that this whole time?” You scowled. He shrugged and limped back up the stairs, cane offering additional stability. 

Rachel peered down from the top of the stairs, laughing wildly, her hair mussed. “Haha! I win!” 

You felt so tired. You looked at your watch. It was almost 11, and Cuddy’s babysitter would be there soon. You sighed with relief and feigned a smile for the little girl. “You scared me, Rachel. Next time tell me before you play hide-and-seek, okay?” 

“But you were playing with him.” She pointed at House. You ran a hand down your face. Kids were observant. 

“Okay, that’s fair. I just didn’t know you were playing too. Next time I’ll say ollie ollie oxen free if I need to find you.” She nodded before jumping onto the couch. 

You went to the kitchen, and House lingered as you made a ham and cheese sandwich for the little girl’s lunch. She sucked on one thumb and watched Blue’s Clues. Another call came into his phone, and he answered, a little less annoyed this time. It seemed his torment of you had improved his mood. 

“Start her on dialysis,” House looked at you severely, you returned the look with significant concern. “Any environmental factors?” 

A knock came at the door. You served the sandwich on a plate, and Rachel ate placidly as Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper danced across the TV screen with their child, Paprika. You’d become very acquainted with the seasoning family after your many hours of watching with the girl. 

You went to the door and let in the babysitter. She greeted you with an exasperated sigh and an apology; you responded with kind understanding. “I do need to get going, it was good seeing you.” You slung your purse over your shoulder, contemplating the symptoms of your patient who waited for you. 

“I’m riding with you,” House invited himself as you approached your car. The sun shone brightly on you and made you squint. His eyes appeared more clear and icy in the noontime sun. 

“The hell you are,” you responded hands on your hips. 

“Well, I can’t operate heavy machinery with this medication.” He took his Vicodin out of his pocket and shook the bottle. 

“That’s a bit of a stretch.” You cocked an eyebrow. “How did you get here?” 

“Taxi.” 

“Then you can taxi back,” you insisted. 

“Are you really going to strand a cripple out on his own?” He feigned the saddest of doe eyes. 

You didn’t buy it, but your resolve was thin. You turned towards your reasonable sedan. “Get in.” 

“There were no environmental factors to speak of,” House said, complying. The car was warm and stuffy from the heat. An aroma of pine bit your nose from your air freshener. 

“Buckle your seatbelt,” you ordered. 

“Why?” He asked. 

“Because it’s safer?” Incredulity tinged your words. 

“It’s like two miles away.” 

“I’m not moving until you put your seatbelt on.” You crossed your arms, and he appraised your chest. 

Pig. You thought, uncrossing your arms. 

“Fine.” He buckled himself in, and you started your car. 

“What has she eaten?” You asked. You drove carefully, and House was impatient, tapping his legs and his cane against the floor. 

“Do you always drive like a grandmother?” He asked. 

“Well, I do have precious cargo,” you sarcastically responded, shooting him an annoyed glance. “Did they say what they’ve been eating?” 

“They didn’t go into details about their menu,” House snarked. “Somehow that seemed of minor importance, what with the whole renal failure thing.” 

“Fine, I’ll ask when I get there.” 

You pulled into the parking lot and turned off the car. You grabbed your lab coat off the backseat and rushed towards Princeton Plainsboro, putting it on as you walked. The tapping of his cane hitting the ground echoed behind you before you opened a double door, and the sounds of monitors, chattering personnel, and overhead speakers filled your ears and drowned out his cane. It was moments like that that offered you peace. The world keeps turning, even when you weren’t there to hold it up. 

You went to the Diagnostics Department, and the rest of your team looked puzzled. They tapped pens and exchanged unsure glances. You walked in, and they brightened. 

“He still hasn’t scared you off yet, huh?” Foreman asked, a bright grin spreading across his face. 

“Nope, I just had an emergency to attend to this morning.” You reached for the file and opened it. “Has anyone asked about her diet?”

“Pretty standard American fare,” Chase responded. “Burgers, fries, and the like.”

You tapped your pen a few times on the table and stood. “Made at home?” You asked. 

“Food poisoning makes sense, but the antibiotics haven’t done a thing,” Cameron responded, sensing where you were going. 

“I’ll be right back,” you turned on your heels and walked toward the room, the file in hand. When you walked in, the woman’s yellow-tinted eyes looked upon you reverently. Like you alone could save her. You hoped that you could. 

You gave your name, your real one, before standing next to her bedside. “Mrs. Marston, I need to reiterate a couple of questions. My colleague mentioned you’d been eating burgers with your family.” 

“Yeah, we had some frozen beef left to finish.”

“What kind of burgers?”

She looked at you skeptically. 

“Humor me,” you insisted. 

“We had mushroom and Swiss burgers a lot lately. My husband made them. He’s been on a grilling kick lately.” 

“What did the mushrooms taste like?” 

“They did taste interesting. Kind of like radishes.” 

You bowed your head and then nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Marston. That was helpful. Where is your husband?” 

“He’s gone to grab some things for me from home. He should be back soon.”

You knew he wouldn’t be back. Your heart raced as you left the room, and House appraised you as you closed the door. “It’s deadly webcap poisoning. The husband has been feeding her mushrooms. She said the mushrooms tasted like radishes.”

~ ~ ~ 

He could admit to himself that she was maybe, slightly competent. He marveled slightly at her ability to unravel medical mysteries. He was almost impressed. The way her eyes met his, glints of sadness, made his heart skip a beat. Or perhaps his years of abusing opioids had caught up with him. 

He chose to believe the latter. Though, he still pulled his orange bottle from his pocket as he watched the patient from outside the room. Cameron entered the room and consoled Mrs. Marston. House exhaled through his nose. The patient wailed in a way that made House grimace, and he turned to limp back to his office. Judas left him there to attend to other business. He popped a Vicodin, and it burned down his throat, before settling into his empty stomach. 

_9 pills left._

To his surprise, Judas was chatting it up with Wilson. The casual way he was leaning against the counter and the uncharacteristic twinkle in his friend’s eye made it apparent that he was performing some version of flirting. 

Was Judas eating it up? House’s stomach turned, both from the Vicodin and... 

_Jealousy_? 

“Yeah, I would love that,” his traitorous disciple responded to something Wilson said. She turned to House with a soft frown and a skeptical eye. “Dr. House,” she cleared her throat. “How’s Mrs. Marston?” 

“You two going on a date?” House asked, glancing between them. 

“Uh,” pink erupted on Judas’s cheeks before she responded with snark. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re going to get drinks as friends.” 

“Yeah, you probably don’t want to have sad divorcee sex with Wilson anyway. It’s a lot of crying and missionary.” 

Wilson’s former joy was sapped as he rolled his eyes, and nervously ruffled his hair. “Did you need something, House?” He asked, venomous annoyance tinging his voice. 

“I’m… going to check in with Cameron. See you later, James.” Judas grabbed her clipboard and walked past the two doctors. House watched her leave. 

“ _James_?” House asked nose scrunched. 

“So what? We’re friends, House. I’m allowed to have other friends, believe it or not.” They began walking together down the hallway. “Wait a minute. This isn’t about me, is it?” 

House stopped and dipped his head back with a sigh, realizing Wilson was about to offer him some sort of insight into his own psyche. 

“You like her,” Wilson grinned at him. 

“I do not like her,” House said flatly. “I don’t like anyone. People are a distraction.”

“You might be able to fool yourself, but you can’t fool me. The nickname, the teasing, making her uncomfortable. You’re like a petty third-grader pulling on pigtails because you can’t express yourself.” 

“I torment everyone, Wilson. It’s what I do.” 

“Fine, if that’s true, I also find her… appealing.” Wilson cleared his throat. “I’m going to try and date her.” 

House let out one loud and obnoxious chortle. Cuddy, from down the hallway, turned and looked at the duo with a frown.

“She would not be interested in you,” House insisted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re boring. White bread with mayonnaise. You won’t get anywhere with someone like Judas.”

“I’m at least cinnamon raisin.” Wilson pulled out a comb from the breast pocket of his suit coat and brushed his hair in what appeared to be an attempt at suaveness. “We’ll see.” 

While House was not convinced by his friend’s antics, something within himself stirred with worry. Did he like her? Was he actually worried that if Wilson got to know Judas, he would miss out on a chance of something good? 

Did he even deserve something good? 

~ ~ ~ 

You looked in the mirror, one hour until you met with Wilson. 

Just as friends. You didn’t see yourself dating him or anything. But who knows, you thought as you swiped a moody shade of red over your lips. You’d never rule anything out one hundred percent. You smoothed out your clothes and feigned a smile for the mirror before flicking off the light and stepping into your hallway.

Your house was quiet, which is how you liked it. No pets or animals, considering you had no time to dedicate to one. Soft, warm lighting, blankets strewn across gray couches, always within reach. A pill organizer on your kitchen counter. A half-finished water bottle next to it. 

A chime went off on your phone, from Dr. Wilson. 

**Wilson** : Karaoke was canceled for tonight. You won’t get to hear my beautiful singing voice. 

You smiled and texted back. 

**You** : What a shame. When you pick me up, you can sing on our way to the bar. :)

 **Wilson** : Deal. 

Shortly after this exchange, the doorbell rang—much earlier than you’d expected it to. You furrowed your brow and peeked through the peephole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed, please leave a comment! 
> 
> Be well, 
> 
> PTW <3


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